The Storm

[Leila Darkmoon]

*The highway ahead of them lay flat and empty, a long dark serpent snaking its way through the barren wasteland. Leila glanced in the rear view mirror at the bright red truck that was behind them. Their trip to “Gun World” had been successful in the fact that they were now equipped with a fair amount of weapons and ammunition. Though she doubted either herself or the few other individuals who had made their way to Gunworld would be able to work such weapons, the soldier Casey had assured her that he could teach anyone. They had stayed holed up in the store for four days, until they had heard a radio broadcast on the formerly dead radio station. All survivors from the north were now encouraged to head towards the southern border of the state. The robotic voice had not said why, or where exactly near the border they would be, yet Leila and the others all decided they should risk the trip south in search of more survivors.

The handful of people from Gun World had piled in with the weapons in the back of the truck and had followed Leila and Casey in her equally laden VW Bug out onto the highway, southbound. They had come across a dozen or so zombies that the VW had made short work of when they had had to run into or over them. Leila grimaced as she turned the windscreen wipers on in attempt at wiping the blood and gore from the front of the glass. The radio was tuned to the station that they had heard the direction from, and aside from that statement that was repeated every ten minutes, there was nothing but soft static as they began to drive across the highway. That had been two hours ago and as Leilas indigo eyes travelled down from the rear view mirror to the fuel tank, she realised with a sinking heart that they would need to stop soon for gas. They had passed a few gas stations on the way, all of which had appeared deserted. She was regretting not stopping before when she saw a sign up ahead that said GAS STOP 10 MILES. Chewing her bottom lip into a slightly nervous smile she glanced over at Casey.

~Uh, if we want to get any further in this thing, we are going to need to stop for gas. .. Plus.. truth be told.. I need to take a leak..~ she smiled apologetically before her eyes found the road in front of her once more.

The horizon before them was growing darker by the second, as the sky above them grew heavy with thick thunderheads. Thunder rumbled ominously in the background as the sky churned it self into a strange dark plum colour. She was starting to get a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach and she almost jumped out of her seat as the formerly softly static radio now blared into life. A sound like frequency testing blared from the speakers before a panicked female voice could be heard.

~There is a storm coming! Beware the storm! There are fears the rain will spread the infection of this plague, as the bacteria is carried through the humidity. Any survivors are warned to stay inside and out of the rain once the storm hits. Once the storm has passed, all survivors are urged to come to the southern border, do not touch anything! Do not drink the water. ~ there was the sound of another male voice in the background and then the female spoke again. ~oh and please.. anyone.. if you’re listening.. bring weapons!~ Static blurted across the speaker again and the signal was once again lost in the soft static.

Looking to Casey with wide eyes, Leila mouthed the word ~Shit..~ before she eyed her glove box longingly, knowing that she still had a half packed pipe in there somewhere. If she ever needed a smoke, it was now dammit, and her hands shook slightly as she tightened her fingers on the steering wheel. Looking back out at the storm ahead she whispered

~You think that’s the storm they’re talking about?~ *


((This is to be the start of the new Zombie thread. Basically, I need players for the characters that are behind them in the truck.. at least three people.. could be up to six. Plus, I will need players for the characters that are at the guard tower at the border (the people broadcasting). There are no other restrictions or requirements of the people, except for the fact that they are human of course.

So, if you would like to play in a kick ass plot ;D This is where you can join in.

I look forward to playing with you.
~Mori ))

[The Joshness ™]

He watched them. They twitched and wallowed in the mud, the rain pouring down on them still even through their…shift. Mark wasn’t going to leave his van, he wasn’t even going to try and drive off. What seemed to be normal people were going insane out there, tearing animals apart and eating them partially then deciding to play kick the can with the leftovers. There were riots of them forming off in the distance and loud gunshots accompanied by horrid screams. Mark himself lived in the van; he had it insulated and habitable in even the highest of broiling temperatures. He’s guessing that’s why the rain isn’t affecting him; he heard the broadcast over the radio and wasn’t going to open any doors to see if they were right.

A child, a CHILD, was walking bowlegged down the road dragging behind it the head of an adult female by the hair. “This is fucking gonzo, I bet those damn Iraqis, and they did this. George Romero was a director, not a fortune teller.” He of course was talking to himself, but sometimes that’s a good thing and right now is –definitely- one of those times. The rain shrouding the area moved on after a few hours, but the violence did not end, in fact it increased as the “Shifted” were able to muck about without stumbling or slipping in the rain, Mark knew he had to decide what to do. It wasn’t smart to start a massive 80’s Panel Van in the mist of what seemed to be Satan’s comical relief on the planet and be eaten by a few hundred insane zombie people. He had to wait until there was a clearing, 5 or 6 he could plow through with his Van, but any more and he’d just get totaled.

As a customary thing with people that drive big vehicles, as even more customary to those who live in them, he had a trusty (stolen) CB radio. Thusly, he began calling out to survivors. Like he thought, quite a few Truckers had survived and were on their move to the border. Like him they were I a massive vehicle that was insulated and most likely having no intention of ditching it. Mark wanted company; he needed people close to him that he could follow. People never survive alone in Zombie movies. "Hello, im looking for survivors. Im in a Van, i need some people to join up with. I can fit 5 maybe 6 more people in here and i have a Shot Gun, PLEASE answer. Over."

[Catrux]

Loki was one of those guys that if you weren't friends with him, there was a good chance you had a friend that was. He was a the University's best line-backer, and was built accordingly. His hair was medium length and dark brown. Not long ago he was in the Athletic Trainer's office getting taped up for practice and now he was sitting in the back of a truck with a stock pile of guns. Between those two points in time, disease fell from the sky causing people to become zombie like. Imediately after he had seen the horror unfold, he went home to retrieve some of his weaponry. His arms consisted of a shotgun, a sawn off, and two semi-auto .45's.

Once armed he sought out other survivors and that was how he found himself in the uncomfortable back of a truck. To pass the time, Loki had been twirling one of his .45's around his finger, hoping they would stop soon so he could work some of the kinks out. In the interest of starting a conversation Loki said aloud to any who would hear, "I say we make this a game of sorts, keep track of you kill count. At the end of each day we find out who wins the pot. I'll bet twenty bucks that it's me, anyone want to take me on?" Despite his rather gruesome proposition, Loki had a way of saying things that made it seem like nothing more than playing cards. Loki then stopped spinning his .45 and reached into his pocket, fished out a twenty and waved it at the others as if to taunt them. "Come on, let's make this interesting."

[† The Jaxness †]

Crack.

A single shot to it's left arm, and the limping hunk of flesh fell to the ground before picking itself back up and trudging along again, unphased. There were 6 or 7 walking around the street, passing under the one or two lamplights that were left unbroken. A fire there and again in the random dumpster. Abandoned cars with broken windows left on the side of the street. And yet the zombies walked on in the rain, not a purpose in the world to care for, only that of finding the next living meal.

All was quiet on her rooftop. Not the sounds of screams in the distance, nor the heavy patter of the rain falling down upon her. Laying on her stomach, she squinted over the edge of the roof, her right eye peering through the scope of her .50 caliber. Her hair was soaked and plastered on her face, but she remained oblivious. Her only focus was that on the target on the other end of her rifle. Keeping her right eye focused on the scope's reticle, she moved it 30 degrees east to see a distorted child dragging along the skull of a woman. With a slight smirk, she positioned her aim and pulled the trigger.

Crack.

The kid dropped to the concrete, the head falling out of the child's grasp and rolling several feet away face down into a puddle. A couple street rats ran out from under a sewer cover to sniff at the corpse, taking a nibble or two out of the child's nose before losing interest and scurrying off. The rain began to slow and eventually stop for the time being. Sitting up, she sat on the gravel of the roof of the local grocery store. She placed her companion beside her, careful to keep anything form coming in contact with the trigger. Would be a shame to ruin her good luck of coming across it by shooting one of her toes off. Pushing the damp hair out of her face, she reached into the pocket of her cargo pants and brought out her smokes only to find that they had been soaked along with every inch of her clothing.

Fuck. Being thrown into a bad mood, she kicked at the gravel with her heavy boot. Their value lost, she tossed the pack of cigarettes over the roof's edge and into the street. You'd think it would have been a Godsend for her, to escape the ward because of a fucking plague outbreak, but no. Couldnt get a fucking smoke in there, cant get one out of it either. She had now come to hear the screams and chaos in the distance. Muffled moans and cries from the victims unfortunate enough to lack the brains required for survival. Quiet gunshots could be heard. Heavy blasts from what sounded to be a shotgun followed by short pops of handguns. Well, well. Looks like I'm not the only one who got lucky.

Having come across her .50 caliber from one of the watch towers in the ward, she had to go through some shit before she acquired enough ammo to suit her needs. Those damn zombies were some ugly fucking things, but they had one hell of a grip. Standing up, she pulled her tank top over her head to ring the water out of it before putting it back on. Doing what she could, she raked her hair back and threw it up in a messy ponytail. Walking with heavy steps, she brought one boot up on the ledge of the roof, resting her arms on her knee as she peered out over the street, pondering her next move.

[foxx]

It was only once the burning sensation in Foxx’s lungs made it difficult to think that she noticed she was holding her breath again. She let it out and took a few slow test breaths to get her chest working again. In truth, it was just as impossible surrounded by people to relax as it had been alone. They were older, better with guns and possibly a little bit stronger than her but they didn’t seem any less scared. What would have made all of this hella easier would be everyone acting like there was nothing to worry about, unfretted by a siege of undead. How could she draw on the fearlessness when there was none to draw from?

Foxx lost herself in the process it took to drive the vehicle to keep herself grounded. Any fear of being able to drive the truck was trumped by the absolute terror that she would not be able to and would be swarmed by the enemy. Television and distant memories of rides in other trucks had gotten her this far. So the shifting wasn’t the smoothest and she was jumpy as a cut cat…At least she had gotten them this far. No one had to know this was her first time the wheel of anything motorized. Being useful would keep her alive until the end of this disaster. After all she had seen so far, she didn’t know what point there was in it, but she would try anyway.

It was while she was in this mode of reassurance that the CB radio inhabiting the cab of the truck with her crackled to life. White knuckled already, it was a wonder that further clenching of the steering wheel did not crush it entirely. She hit the brakes instinctively, causing the truck to heave before she corrected and then lurch forward as the gas was pumped nervously. Why she missed the Bug riding ahead was a mystery, but a welcome one. When a non-zombie voice came through, she listened closely. Steering with the death grip of one hand, Foxx fumbled clumsily for the mic. She settled on the cord when the handset proved unreachable yanked so hard it sprang off its cradle and connected with her shoulder. Grasping it at last, she replied.

“Foxx here. Where’s your van? If you’re still out there, tell me where you are!”

Even as her hand moved to the horn centered on the wheel, she snatched it back. Alerting every zombie in a 5 mile radius with it wasn’t too bright. Going on whatever this brave feeling was, Foxx pulled the wheel hard right and accelerated until she could see in the passenger window of the Bug. The blood she saw spattered over it and the rest of the car turned her stomach. Cranking her own window down, she called to Leila and Casey.

“We gotta live one! He’s in a van somewhere but he hasn’t said where yet.”

[dagodevas]

Patrick was in the back of the truck. He was cold. He was hungry. He was scared shitless. He was somewhat lanky. No where near the epitome of the bat weilding zombie combatant one would expect. Years of Resident Evil gave him a unique perspective on the situation until he had to actually pull a trigger to save his life.
We're not in the game. This is real. We're fucked.
He gripped his bat and the shotgun his older brother rigged up to be automatic close to him. He only had a single box of about 50 bullets left for it with a case of magazines for standard 9mm. All told the single barrel automatic and about 3 9mm handguns were all he could muster to carry. His trusty calculator watch/radio felt like a ton on his wrist as he began drifting to sleep. He knew he had to fight it or he'd die.
"Are you insane, betting on who kills the most zombies?!?" Patrick was appauled at the proposal. He felt compelled and dropped a 20 onto the ground in front of the guy who looked like he was going to beat him up for his lunch money. "I'm in."

[The Joshness ™]

(CONCEPT: "Michael")

He swayed, hearing the voices in the background of the nothingness. At least the thought they were voices “But then again” he thought to himself, “What are voices?” He took a few more steps, stumbling over the tattered remains of his pants that were nearly off his hips and to soon be completely stripped off him. There was not actual pattern of thought in his min, other than the intense need to crack open a skull or tear apart a ribcage. But while he stumbled through the crowds of others he realized their cold soul lacking bodies didn’t have what he wanted. They lacked the pizzazz that the Others had. Yes, he was already drooling over the though of those warm fleshy people, or was he already drooling? It could have been blood because he got hit pretty hard in the face by a car bumper before he…. well he’s not sure, and knocked out quite a few of his teeth. He moaned in his sudden hunger for those meaty pink slabs of flesh. A person with this much on his mind deserves a name. Michael, yes that’s an appropriate name. Michael was indeed a zombie; his skin tattered with the decay and his eyes going blind from the death. But he could still hear, and actually see quite well. It wasn’t his eyes he was using to guide him as much as it was his hunger. Inside he knew that he didn’t exactly have to know where it was, just the general direction.

He spent another night out in the rain after the first devious night and this one was a little more eventful, he had caught a fleeing animal and began to feast. His stomach no longer functioned and his digestive tract was just a slimy dead tube, but still he forced heap after heap of bloody cat mass down his throat. Consuming it greedily. Before too long another had stumbled upon Michaels little feast and became angry with him for hording it, then whacked poor Michael with his foot and he went down like a sack of bricks. For a few hours they became entangled in a raging tussle over what was left of a mangled cat torso until both the Angry One and Michael became distracted by the rising sun and soon began to approach it. As customary with the more simple minded creatures, the sudden change in colors of the background and light in the are amused him and he was determined to discover the cause. But Michael was becoming even more so blind the coming days as he wasn’t able to tell the light from dark anymore. Michaels once vibrant white shirt now caked with blackening bloodstains after being ground in with mud from the streets he fell on. His once movie star hair nothing but overgrown weeds in someone’s yard with patches of it missing exposing the hard white skull of dirt beneath it. His slacks were long since gone by now, leaving him exposed in nothing but his Underdog boxers wandering the streets in search of some of that juicy red food. It wasn’t that he just needed to eat, but he could still without a doubt TASTE. He can remember the bite he took from the nurse at the hospital, and it had to be the single most delicious substance in the recorded history of Zombiedom. It was even more delectable than the taste of his fingers after having them impaled in a dog’s colon. And he NEEDS this taste again, and god help whoever stands in his way. Michael has quite a temper on him.

He casually waddled too and fro through the orange colored horizon from the view of his other ‘comrades’ in search of the taste. It’s just a matter of time. Everything is only a matter of time.

[Benito Senfetti]

(Posting As Casey Smith)

Casey had only given advisement on what weapons they should and shouldnt bring though he didnt know how much help he was. He felt out of place, lost, and alone even being with these people. Maybed it was his displacement or maybe it was because this whole fucked up situation was so far from reality that he had no idea what to do.

Finally it was Leila's voice that brought him back to reality inside of the VW. He listened to her words and then gave a short nod in acknowledgement to what she had said. Truth was he had not eaten and had little to drink for almost three days now. He didnt mention anything about it for as a soldier he was given training to curve the need for meaningless tasks such as eating until it was finally needed for survival, he thought now might be a good time to prepare for that time of survival by collecting food while she collected relief and gas.

The short moments of silence, or rather static was a comfort to him as he collected himself but as it blared back to life his eyes drifted to the radio as he listened to the frantic voices on the radio. He was not about to suggest to Leila or the rest of the people in their caravan to go and help these people for they would have to make the decision on their own. But if in deciding not to go he would have to seperate under orders to provide relief for those in that tower. For now his silence was his answer to the radio call for help and the warning of an omnious storm that was on the horizon. If not dead or dieing he was not afraid of the infection.

His eyes finally drifted away from the radio to Leila's hand in the glovebox to which he held back a laugh. Her words only brought his nod forth again as he took her hand and placed it back on the wheel while he pulled out the pipe he had guessed she was looking for. He held it out to her as he began to speak.

"That unfortunately is the storm they are talking about. We best be getting to that gas station and getting whatever we need out of it and be on our way. And I'd wait to smoke that until we are driving again, firing a weapon and being high is a deadly mix to the rest of us and having survived for this long I hope to once again survive the rest of these ordeal."

[dagodevas]

Patrick checked his watch. He had calmed down quite a bit. At this point he was anxious. He was getting sick of sitting in the back of the car and he would slay for a Gameboy DS. He turned on his radio. None of his preset stations were broadcasting, a few were giving the emergency tone, but most of them were reduced to static until he got to one. Normally a 90's Alternative Station, now it broadcasted the moaning of zombies. Patrick shot up and quickly turned the radio on his watch to the 2-way shortwave function. He remembered his fear. He hoped they would find somewhere to stop soon.
"How much longer do you think it will be before we reach the border?" He tried to hide his ever-apparent fear.

[Leila Darkmoon]

*Leila glanced over longingly at the pipe that Casey held in his hands. Despite her desperate need for just one quick toke, she knew that he was right in his assessment of the danger of shooting, or even driving for that matter, while stoned. Nodding regretfully, she smiled slightly.

~I know.. I know.. you can put it back away for me if you want.. I’m sure there will come a time when I can have it.. perhaps when we reach the border and those people that were just on the radio..?~

She turned her eyes back to the road ahead, her indigo orbs darting up to check the rear view mirror to make sure the red truck was still behind them. A golden brow shot up in surprise as she saw the truck gain speed and drive up beside them. Winding down her window in response to Foxx rolling down the trucks window, Leila looked up but had difficulty seeing Foxx given the height of the truck and the low riding position of the bug.


“We gotta live one! He’s in a van somewhere but he hasn’t said where yet.”

Leila looked to Casey in surprise and waited to see if he would respond to Foxx. When he didn’t, she nodded slightly and called out to Foxx in as loud a voice as possible.

~Okay, try to get his location and see if he’s nearby. We are going to have to stop for gas soon or we aint getting anywhere…there’s one coming up in a few miles. Tell the guy to drive on interstate 56 until he comes to a gas station with a VW bug and a red truck. If he hasn’t turned up by the time we leave, you can radio him to follow us to the border…~

She took a hand off the wheel to wave to Foxx before she waited to see if there would be a response. Once she was satisfied her message had been received, she wound her window back up and flicked the switch for the bugs air control. She didn’t have air conditioning, the bug was too old for that. But she did have a switch that made cool air from outside stream in through the vents on the dashboard. Although the air smelled slightly of the decaying flesh that was rotting in the front bumper of the Bug, Leila welcomed the cool air with a toss of her long golden locks. Looking out at the storm again, she shivered as she said to Casey

~That storm looks bad.. I hope we make it to the Gas Station in time..~

Just as she said it, she caught a glint of something on the horizon. Straining her eyes to see, she could finally make out that it was in fact a car glinting in the fading light. Looking quickly to Casey to see if he could see it too, she sped up slightly so that the Bug soon approached the car. As they drew closer, Leila winced at the amount of blood and gore that was dripping all over the car which looked like it had once been a sedan of some sort. All the windows were busted, as though someone or something had smashed the windows to get in, though the glass was on the outside of the car, suggesting someone had smashed the windows to get out. Driving past slowly, Leila searched for any sign of life but failed to see any. Sighing deeply, she pumped the accelerator and sped up again. A few minutes further down the highway, she saw another wrecked car, this time a mini van. Once again, it was covered in blood and broken body parts. There was clearly no sign of life inside the van, though there was two or three zombies roaming around near the van, moaning and stumbling into each other. One of them was a young girl, who appeared no more than six or seven but who was feasting of the leg of a woman much older than her; a woman who had worn red high heels when she had been alive. Pushing the Bug to the limit, she sped up even more and roared past the grisly scene.

As they crested the hill, she saw something else glinting in the distance but smiled in relief as she saw it was another sign announcing GAS STOP 2 MILES.

~We’re nearly there~ she whispered to Casey, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. ~What’s the plan of attack once we get there? What if its infested?~ *

[Catrux]

The slight reprimand he got from the fellow next to him, surprised Loki. When the man set down a twenty and announced he was in, a grin spread across Loki's face. "That a way. Anyone else? Remember you can always jump in, but you can't count any zombies you killed before joining." Loki then reached out and took the twenty, only to place it in his left pocket. "I will hold on to the money and dish it out appropriatly at the end of the day. Sound good?" If it was to be just the two involved in the wager, Loki would most likely give him his money back even if he won.

Soon after the money was securely placed inside Loki's pocket, the truck accelerated, catching up to the VW they were following. Forgetting that he was still holding his .45, Loki waved to the Bug. Suddenly he heard static and then moaning, he turned to the source of the sound only to find that it was comming from the watch the guy next to him was wearing. "I haven't the slightest as to when we are gonna reach the border. Thats quite the watch you have there, whats it all do? I'm Loki by the way."

The conversation that the two drivers had was shortlived and they were soon in single file once again. Farther down the road, Loki spotted first a car that had noticable signs of struggle, then he smiled as he saw a mini van with a few zombies. Deftly, Loki drew and raised his .45's fireing a shot from each. The first shot landed dead on, the adult zombie's head exploded. The second would have had the same out come but the girl turned just in time and he ended up shooting the nose off the little girl. "Well, I believe that is one for me." Loki then relaxed back against the truck once again, with a satisfied look on his face.

[dagodevas]

"I'm Patrick." He extended his arm and shoke hands with Loki. "It's an FM radio, calculator, clock, chronometer, alarm, and two-way radio. It comes in handy. I think we're stopping soon, I saw a gas stop sign right back there. We should probably be ready for some zombies."
Patrick started putting shells in the tube of his shotgun where it was modified to load. He set his bat down and started unpacking boxes of magazines from the case at his feet.
"Is there any containers back here for us to fill up with supplies if we stop?" Patrick began looking around.

[foxx]

In lieu of yelling again between the two vehicles, Foxx nodded for the sake of anyone who could see her from the Bug. There had to be an easier way to communicate. As the truck fell back behind the car once more, she nervously eyed the CB. The gentle crackle of empty static seemed somehow eerier than silence would have. Straining to hear, Foxx awaited the faintest whisper from the stranger she could only hope was still alive in his van. Nothing. Not his location and not the terrified screams of a painful death at the hands of the virus infected masses. She steadied the wheel with one hand and took up the handset again. Rather than speak into it this time, she shouted. If he was out there, he’d hear her.

“Vanman! If you’re out there you’re gonna need to say so ‘cause I can’t see you from here and…”

Deliberately Foxx had turned her gaze away from the wrecked and bloody car in their path, steering carefully around it and fixing wide, glazed eyes on the obstacle-ridden road ahead. Better to focus on the ones she could help than the ones who were beyond it. The minivan came into view. Foxx’s hopes fell…maybe she could see him after all. Grinding her teeth against the overpowering nausea, she studied the trio of zombies for her vanman. Were they too late? Unless he was a six year old female with a man’s voice or a transvestite, neither the bloodied little girl nor her heeled meal were him. As for the other two, it was anybody’s guess who they might be. With little time to consider what they had been before their deaths, two shots shattered her controlled exterior and she swerved wide around the van and the exploding zombie with a screech of tires. Up until now she’d barely been aware she shared the vehicle with anyone as the muffled conversation carrying on behind her in the cab had been the least of her worries. Shaking all over, she clung to the wheel with both hands while the tangled cord of the radio swung wildly under her outstretched arm, looped around her elbow. On a deep breath she swore viciously at the nut in the back of the truck.

“JACKASS! I’m drivin’ here, have a heart, would ya? Geez.”

Pessimism would get her nowhere; Foxx caught and tightly clenched the mic then called loudly into it. Out of the corner of her vision a sign reading ‘Gas Station : 2 Miles’ passed. With Rambo in the back, she wondered if they’d make it two whole miles.

“VANMAN?! Are you out there? Tell me where you are! I have a truck, a small group of uninfected and the mother load of guns. Be alive and tell me where you are!”

[Benito Senfetti]

Unaffected by what was going on around him, Casey lost touch once again with the reality that everyone else was so preoccupied with. He heard nothing of the man whom they had been in contact with and so staring blankly out at the storm he just went deaf and dumb to the world. Maybe ie was the pile of stinking rotting zombie-feed that he created and then was buried underneath of, or maybe it was finally the reality setting in on how exactly expendable he was as an asset to his country. Of all the urban missions he had done, he had left with his men and was back on a base raising hell. This time he watched his buddies torn to pieces and eaten like prime rib on a friday night.

Shaking himself away from his own sense of losing his mind he took a look at the cars parked on the side of the road. Reaching the little girl having a small feast on a leg. He had seen worse things from the living in the religious based wars on missions in Africa, it is not when these animals eat humans that is disgusting it is the atrocities of those who are supposed to be intelligent. He once again tore himself away from his dilusional view of the past and turned to the speedometer as his senses flared about the speed. Casey took and grabbed Leila's hand gently on the wheel.

"Easy there, We will get there soon enough. I want you to be calm. Here is the plan, I want you to pull right up to the pump, I dont care if there is a zombie orgy going on infront of it. Just hit them. I am going to sweep out, In this area there cant be too many zombies in the first place so I might be able to clean up an area so everyone can exit the vehicles. I want you to pump the gas with one hand and hold a gun in the other. I want everyone else to follow my lead and sweep into the station and pick up rations. They want to eat us but what good are we without our food either? Just follow what I say and no one is going to get infected or die. Understand?"

[The Joshness ™]

Tyler was now sitting crouched down behind the overly-sized wheel of his van, watching them. Moaning, they never stop MOANING! Stumbling about, dragging their feet, until they see people. Then they go apeshit and tear them apart. So far he had been lucky, nothing came to his van, tried to get in, or could even smell him he guessed. There was something fishy about this, he just didn’t see this happening naturally. There has to be some supergovernment power behind this, a political assassination to get rid of the country so they could take over. But with such a viral airborn virus that travels through rain, what would keep it from traveling back to where it came from? Tyler didn’t know, he had just finished rolling a blunt before sitting down in the driver’s seat. The 12 gauge shotgun nestled safely in its box beside his seat with the lid open.

“VANMAN!!!”

Tyler near shit himself after 10 or so minutes of silence, that yelling wasn’t too friendly sounding. The incoming was scratchy but he could hear her “Hey, im on the corner of 4th and Normandy somewhere in this city, I was kind of drunk when I got here so im not exactly sure where I am.” Looking up momentarily, ‘Vanman’ was apparently broadcasting his presence to the entire ‘Shifted’ community at large. The voices were drawing them in. And they were indeed coming for HIM.

“Uhm, Trucky?” his way of saying Truck Lady, “ My situation has just been compromised, where are you guys heading?” He started the van, and with its 350 big block engine and modified exhaust. Every zombie within 4 city block is now heading in his direction. “Please get back quick, I need to know where im going. I have about 300 Shifted coming at me in a matter of second.” Tyler held his hand on the shifter getting ready to pop it into drive, holding the CB mic in his other hand. Watching the ones that were closer to him begin to rush him, but most of them were mutilated and fought them selves to nothing. But those were the ones here, god knows how fit the rest of them are. With his Mic hand he slid the blunt in between his lips and then looked for the lighter hidden somewhere in his jean pockets. Tylers hands are very shaky, its not hard to tell he’s scared right now.